Our Roads To Run About
by Konstantya
Summary: After Folken comes to request asylum, Eries and Dryden have a brief discussion about the matter, and the man himself. (Takes place within the events of my previous fic, "If I Walk Down This Hallway.")


General Note: I'm only going to reformat my fics so much when this site is the one at fault. So if the formatting is weird, please check out my profile for more info. Thank you.

A/N: As stated in the summary, this takes place within the events of my previous fic, _If I Walk Down This Hallway_, and, as such, is heavily related to that fic, and to the Driving Circles Around Me Arc as a whole—but it isn't actually an official part of that arc? And is instead some weird little off-shoot? Or something? But anyway, it came about because there was a part in _If I Walk Down This Hallway_ where it was mentioned that Eries had a "brief conversation" with Dryden, and while the details of said conversation obviously weren't important in relation to the rest of that fic, I got curious about the details all the same, and so here we are. It turned out perhaps a little less brief than I had originally imagined, but it gave me a chance to write Dryden, who is oodles of fun, so.

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**Our Roads To Run About  
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His appeal to the Asturian King and Council concluded, his presence no longer required, Folken Fanel, former Strategos of Zaibach, lowered himself into a very formal, graceful kneel, and then let the two guards that had been flanking him usher him towards the double doors at the far end of the chamber. With his back turned, Eries finally shifted from her little spot in the shadows and carefully made her way over to Dryden, watching the former Strategos every step of the way.

"What do you think?" the acting king asked, too low for anyone else to hear, once she sidled up to him.

"He certainly seems sincere," she said.

"Yes," Dryden mused. "He does, doesn't he?" By now, the man in question was almost out of the room, and many of the Council members had begun to murmur amongst themselves, but Eries kept her eyes trained on his tall figure, unwilling (unable?) to look away from him, even for a second. Dryden, observant person that he was, took notice of this, and in that wry way of his, said, "Pardon me if this counts as prying, but am I correct in assuming you have some prior acquaintance with the gentleman?"

Eries blinked at that particular word. He was well-mannered, that was certain, but a part of her had to wonder if 'gentleman' was really the right way to describe the elder Fanel brother. Especially when one took his previous actions into account. At length, she admitted, voice even as ever, "We met once before. Twice, if you want to get technical."

"Oh?"

The chamber doors shut, finally removing him from view, but her focus still lingered on the last place she'd seen him. "There was once talk of him maybe marrying Marlene," she relinquished.

_"Oh."_ Dryden's eyebrows momentarily rose up above the rims of his glasses, and his own gaze traveled back toward the doors by which the man had left. "So you two have something of a history, then."

Something in her stiffened defensively at his particular choice of phrasing, though why, she couldn't be sure. "I wouldn't exactly say that."

Perhaps he had heard the note of warning in her voice, because he shifted thoughtfully back in his seat and effectively changed the subject. "Do you know what's up with that cloth he has draped around his shoulders? Even I know that's not military regulation, and he doesn't exactly strike me as a fashion-forward sort of guy, you know what I mean?"

The thought of Folken Fanel as some frivolous dandy, trying to set a fashion trend, was almost enough to make the corners of her mouth curl up at the sheer ridiculousness of it. The answer itself, however, forced her expression straight. "He lost an arm attempting the dragon-slaying ritual required of all Fanelian kings."

Dryden blinked, and actually started a little in surprise at that. He recovered quickly, letting out a soft snort, and his posture returned to its usual arrogant, indolent slouch. Almost as if he was trying to make some rebellious statement against tradition with his very bearing. "Barbaric ritual, that is, if you ask me," he muttered under his breath. Eries hummed noncommittally in response.

"He has an artificial replacement," she went on, "but it's…not exactly the most aesthetically pleasing thing. I think he keeps it covered mostly out of consideration for others." It wasn't quite a lie. She was pretty sure a big part of it _was_ consideration for others. She was also pretty sure a big part of it was shame, but there was no need to voice that particular opinion just then.

Dryden peered up at her, and lifted an eyebrow in something akin to amused speculation. "And yet _you've_ apparently seen it."

"It's…a bit of a long story." And not one she particularly cared to tell, even to the acting king of Asturia.

Thankfully, he didn't press the issue. Instead, admiration sparked in his eyes and a good-natured grin tugged at his lips. "The indomitable Princess Eries! Brother and sister, you and I are now, and yet you're still so determined to remain mysterious."

"Well," she said mildly, giving him a sideways glance, "it's part of my reputation, after all. One has to uphold these things."

Dryden actually chuckled at that, and she couldn't help the smile that twitched at her own mouth. Sometimes his sense of humor was downright infectious. The light-hearted moment was short-lived, however, and he sobered knowingly. "As pleasant as this turn in conversation is, I get the feeling you didn't come up to me just to trade familial barbs."

"No," she admitted, looking back toward the hall Folken Fanel was presumably waiting in. "I didn't." Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, and after a moment, she finally let the words come out. "With your permission, I'd like to assign him guest quarters. At least until a decision is reached, regarding his request."

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw him turn his head toward her, and she could just imagine the skeptically quirked eyebrow. "Do you really think that's wise?"

She hesitated, just slightly, before staunchly soldiering on. "I _do_ get the impression he's sincere in his desire to help against Zaibach. And even if he isn't, he's too smart to try anything before being formally granted asylum. I'd post guards outside the room, anyway," she added. "But I think it would be a worthwhile gesture. He has a hint of mourning about him. Something tells me those Intensified Luck Soldiers were more than just subordinates to him."

"Do you really think so?" he asked, genuinely curious about the insight. Before she could answer, he, too, looked back toward the hall, rubbing thoughtful fingers over his stubbled chin. "Well, you make a good case, in any event. Still," he mused, "I find it hard to imagine a man like that actually caring about anyone beyond the ways they might be of use to him."

Eries shot him a sidelong look. "People have said the same thing about _me,_ you know," she pointed out.

"Too true!" he laughed, and with that, gracefully conceded defeat. Briskly, jauntily, he put a hand to his chest and respectfully inclined his head. "Well," he said, "if you think it's a good idea, I will defer to your judgment in this matter, beloved sister-in-law of mine."

"Too kind, brother, dear," she drawled in turn.

A short, humorless laugh came out of him then. "Just be glad you're not required to stay and debate with these stiffs for gods know how long."

A similarly mirthless smile tugged briefly at the corners of her mouth. "The burdens of being king," she remarked wryly, surveying the other men in the room, not envying her brother-in-law in the least. Torvand, the Minister of Internal Affairs, argumentative on the best of days, was apparently warming up for a full-blown verbal brawl, if his steadily rising voice was anything to go by. She gave Dryden one last sympathetic look, then made to take her leave. "Good luck," she offered, and meant it.

"You, too," he returned, and there was something in his voice that told her he was grateful he didn't have to deal with the former Strategos himself. Not yet, at least.

Eries nodded at the Council members as she made her way down the room, and once she reached the main exit, she paused, making sure her shoulders were set and her chin was lifted. And then, with a bracing breath and a steady step of the foot, reached for the door handle.

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A/N: The beginning is a bit more abrupt than I would truly like, and the title is potentially unrelated to the actual story, but I just wanted to get the idea out of my head. And so I did, yay!

Now. Back to Part 4 (and more Folken/Eries sexytimes). ;D

Thanks for reading!


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